


Needles

by Strangeredlantern



Series: Ornaments [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Libraries, M/M, Married Couple, Mentions of past drug abuse, Neonatal Withdrawl Syndrome, memory transference, werewolf powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/pseuds/Strangeredlantern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets a very important call, which leads to Isaac and Stiles making the acquaintance of an angel in red and white and a light for their nursery.</p><p>Needles don't have to be painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needles

**Author's Note:**

> Needles is a stand alone story, but in my _completely_ unbiased opinion, you would benefit from reading its companion [Lights](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1014983). I hope you enjoy!

Stiles is leaning himself against the wall, pushing away from it with one palm as he holds the Goya art book open to his chest. He can’t believe he still has to walk himself through this like Deaton used to when Stiles was first starting out. After all these years Stiles still doesn’t feel like this whole magic thing was really meant to be his, but whatever. All he wants is to make Isaac happy.

He finishes intense study and he closes his eyes, telling himself over and over again that all he has to do is believe, and the painting will show up on the blank tan wall behind the crib. Stiles imagines himself sitting under the same tree as in the painting, observing all the colors and textures surrounding him.

Stiles’ cell phone vibrates in his back pocket and he’s shocked out of his trance, his hand lifting away from the attempted magic and grabs for his phone, his shoulder hitting it as he loses balance in his haste. It has to be Lydia. It just has to be.

He slides the green bar across the bottom of his touch screen, holding it up to his ear as he drops the Goya anthology in the empty crib and walks out of the room and down the stairs. “Lydia, please tell me this is good news. Please.” Stiles curls up in his corner of the couch and covers his eyes, hearing the crackle of Lydia's sigh on the other side of the line.

"I think I found you a little girl. She's at--"

Stiles doesn't wait for her to finish, pushing his phone in to the side of his face as if the intensity could be felt by Lydia, five hours away in Beacon Hills.

“When can we see her?”

The silence on the line seems like it lasts for fifteen minutes, but in reality it only lasts long enough for Lydia to probably roll her eyes at being interrupted. Stiles can’t take the nervous energy. He shoots off the couch and yanks the cardboard box off the coffee table, filled with ornaments he still hasn’t gotten on to the tree. He balances it on his hips as he ducks and bobs around the tree, adding a few ornaments as a final touch.  


“Stiles. Before you two say yes. There’s something you should know. The mother is going to jail. For drug abuse and possession.”

Stiles freezes in his final assessment of the tree, his head smashed to his shoulder to keep his phone next to his ear and his hand wrapped around a small glass apple. The golden leaf on top digs into the palm of his hand. Stiles has never felt such great conflict. On one hand, there’s no way this mother is going to be able to take their child back, and he’s eternally grateful he and Isaac won’t have to break their hearts a third time. On the other, Stiles is filled with an unholy rage. Who could do this to a baby? Who could addict their child to drugs _before they’re even born?_

“She’s got withdrawal? Shit. How bad is it, Lydia?”

He can hear her flipping through a few sheets of paper before her voice takes a sour turn. She’s just as pissed as Stiles. “Three weeks. She’s three weeks old and they’ve had her on morphine for most of her life. They’re taking her off of it, and the mother just signed away her rights to the baby. She’s at Mark Twain St. Joseph’s Hospital.”

Stiles releases the apple just the smallest bit. Their new baby girl is only 25 minutes away. He feels like he’s going to combust with joy. He’s got to tell Isaac. Right now. “Lydia. Thank you. Thank you. Can we go get her today? When?”

“If you leave at five, you should be able to get there the same time all the paperwork should be completed for you two. And Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Isaac they can’t take her away this time.”

Stiles can hear just the slightest bit of heartbreak over the phone as he agrees to let Isaac know. It killed Lydia just as much as it killed Isaac and Stiles when the first two adoptions fell through over mothers who wanted to take the children back. The second time was the worst. They had made it all the way to the hospital, only to see a crying young woman over the crib in the baby room. Stiles’ heart was shattered. Isaac’s was deadened. They didn’t say anything on the way home. And Isaac went straight up the stairs when they arrived and closed the door to the nursery. Now it’s Isaac who won’t keep his phone charged.

Stiles feels jittery in the best way as he ends the call and hangs the apple, his fingers catching on the hard plastic paper edges of the fake tree’s needles. Damn he wishes it was real. He remembers how soft real pine needles are when you’re stroking them the right way, but these just feel like a thousand paper-cuts as Stiles glides his fingertips over the unnaturally kinked metal boughs. Stiles places the rest of the ornaments in a happy haze, setting the empty brown box at the foot of the tree and climbing underneath. He plucks the final plug from the center of the tree and shoves it into the power bar that’s attached to the timer. Finished.

His knees are up against his chest and he’s getting lost in the black brick of the fireplace and thoughts of what his parents must have felt when they knew they were going to have a baby. Isaac walks in the front door to the right of him, and it takes just a second for Stiles to register his presence. Isaac drops his keys on the side table right next to Stiles and bends down to plant a kiss on top of Stiles’ head. Stiles turns his neck to come shockingly close to Isaac’s face, and he smiles up at it. He can’t wait to see how Isaac’s eyes will brighten with the news of the baby. The words are just about to spill out when Isaac opens his own mouth with a small smile.

“Work was interesting today.” Isaac is so rarely forthcoming about his day to day life that Stiles closes his mouth and continues to follow him with his eyes as he walks in front of Stiles to sit next to him on the couch. “I… well I would tell you about it. But uh, would you like to see it instead?” Isaac’s eyes are cast down, in which emotion Stiles can never be quite sure. Stiles loves getting the memories, even if Isaac can only work up the courage to give them twice a year. Stiles has been anticipating this since December first, waiting for Isaac to decide when he'll give Stiles the semi-annual present. How serendipitous that Stiles would get this present today of all days. December twelfth will forever be on the list of Stiles Stilinski’s best days ever.

“Of course I do.” Stiles ducks his head to catch Isaac’s gaze, and he leans in to kiss Isaac. He feels Isaac rest his hand on the back of his neck, his fingers already curling lightly. Isaac stops right before the kiss though, his face painted with concern. He stopped arguing over this a long time ago, and Stiles appreciates that Isaac’s still willing to give them to Stiles despite his reservations about how much it hurts Stiles. 

“I’ll go start dinner; come join me when you’ve finished watching?” Isaac’s eyes seek over Stiles’ face, and he closes his eyes when Stiles nods, the smallest of wrinkles forming between Isaac’s eyebrows. And then Stiles is being kissed, lightly and sweetly as he feels three claws pierce the back of his neck.

 

Stiles loves being inside of Isaac’s head. He feels like he’s looking over Isaac’s shoulder but also getting to experience his emotions at the same time. He can never see himself in the memories, and he can’t see Isaac’s face either. Stiles hasn’t quite figured out how the whole thing works because Isaac won’t give him more than two memories a year.

The first thing Stiles feels is Isaac’s weary surprise when the tinted glass doors slide open to welcome 4 college students into its warmth. Usually by this time of the year, its all retired couples on a winter wine tour, asking for directions. Isaac is semi asleep, semi lurking as he watches three, two girls and a boy, settle themselves at the table closest to the door, either already on their phones or surrendering to them immediately as they sit down. Stiles can feel the eyeroll already. What’s the point of coming to a library if you’re just playing games on your phone?

Isaac looks away to settle his eyes on a puffy dark purple parka and gray backpack that’s perusing quickly through the science fiction section, the girl wearing them sporting a harried but excited look. Stiles knows that Isaac is watching because he can’t categorize her right away. Isaac has told him a couple of times that its his favorite hobby at slow points to try and figure out what kind of person he’s dealing with by the books they check out. She’s stacking books in her right arm, pulling them off the shelf with her left like she knows how a library cataloging system works. No wonder Isaac can’t look away.

The girl has sped through the entire tiny library in under ten minutes with eight books in her final stack. She hurries over and plops them down next to the brown haired girl staring bored at her phone. “I’m almost done, ok?” Isaac thinks these two might be sisters. He glances over to the boy and the blonde girl, who are holding hands under the table and staring at their phones. Well, the blonde is. The boy is sneakily trying to read all the book titles. And now Isaac is too, his curiosity getting the better of him. She’s got two non fiction books, Teen Feng Shui and Dollhouses for Everyone at the bottom of the pile. Isaac absently fingers the list he was working on at the front desk (that Stiles has yet to read the contents of), watching her yank open her backpack and dig for a pen and piece of paper. She starts scribbling the titles down as she restacks the books on the table, glancing back and forth. A simple chapter book in french. All Quiet on the Western Front. Peter and the Starcatchers. Wringer. The Illustrated Man. She stops on the little blue and red book, smiling fondly. Nine Stories by JD Salinger.

Stiles can feel Isaac settle proudly, finally able to pin something down about the girl. This is her favorite book, and by the looks of it, the one she forgot to bring on her trip. And Isaac can tell they’re on vacation because that parka is way too warm for 38 degrees and everyone looks like they’ve been in the car for too long.

She scoops up the pile of books, holding the list with her thumb and index finger, the pen caught in the hook of her left pinky. Isaac stands up straight as she thumps the stack down at the computer where Isaac is standing. She looks up and trepidation passes over her face. Stiles can’t help but smile. Isaac’s face is uncommonly beautiful to say the least, and the girl is suffering from what Stiles likes to call the ‘holy shit look at those eyes’ syndrome. He can feel that Isaac is a little saddened by it though. He never believes Stiles when he tells him that people are just intimidated by all the beauty.

The girl slides off the backpack and sets it down on the counter next to the pile, slipping out her wallet from a side pocket. She hasn’t looked away from Isaac’s face yet, and Stiles feels Isaac breathe out slowly in relief. She’s not scared of him after all. “I don’t have a library card here.” She states it semi-confidently, like she expects to be able to convince Isaac to let her take the books despite that. Stiles knows that Isaac would let her anyway. Isaac only bothers to talk about the library patrons that are special and smart and uncategorizable. 

Isaac opens his mouth in a smile to answer her as he picks up the book on the top, Nine Stories, to scan it into the system. Isaac checks out like twenty books a week himself (his latest obsession modern art, hence the Goya painting attempt), and he’ll just put them on his card instead. She’s apparently thought this out though, and she charges ahead before Isaac can say a word. “Let me pay you double the lost fee for every book, ok? That way if I for some reason don’t return the books, you can go get new ones. And here’s a list of everything I took.” She pulls out her wallet and pinches a hundred dollar bill in her fingers, and with zero hesitation grabs Isaac’s hand to lay it there with her list on top.

She’s noticed the silver wedding ring because she’s taken his left hand with her own, and Stiles’ heart fills with warmth and joy when he sees this girl’s face light up, looking for all the world like she wants to say something, but is unsure what to say exactly. “Please don’t argue with me over this. It took ten minutes to get them in here.” She jerks her head back to her friends slumped at the table. The girl with the brown hair sighs loudly, and Purple Parka sighs and drops Isaac’s hand, her face transforming into irritation. She turns around and pulls something from around her neck. A thick key lanyard that’s yellow and black is thrown with angry inaccuracy towards the table. The boy snatches them out of the air, but the girls look indignant. Isaac smirks to himself. It was a very long car ride apparently. “Just go get in the damned car, Ruth. God forbid I should have something fun to do up in Bear Valley.” Isaac watches her shoulders relax as she turns to regard the boy who is picking her car key out of the bundle. She turns around and pulls the list back, adding two names to the list of books Isaac had set down by the computer. Ender’s Game and The Silmarillion. Stiles is confused because the books don’t exactly fit with her other selections, but Isaac is looking down at the list like he gets it. The rest of the group heads out of the door, and Purple Parka smiles at the boy, pointing down at the list. He smiles and waves the keys at her, and turns to leave with the other two. Oh, these books are for him. Stiles is in awe at how good Isaac is at this. People watching.

Isaac finally has a chance to open his mouth, and he’s so fascinated by this group of people. He slides the list away from underneath her fingers, and she flips her hand away from it, tapping the top of his hand with her pen as he turns it to face him. “Did you want me to go find these two?”

She looks flabbergasted at his voice, and Stiles can relate, basically preening at how hot his husband is. She recovers quickly though, this time her voice much smaller. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

When Isaac returns with the two books, he finds his own list at the computer slightly shifted. Stiles feels Isaac’s mood slide into wary suspicion, but the girl is smiling brightly as she reaches out to take the books from Isaac. “If you’re picking baby names, can I give you some advice?” She slides her stack towards her, getting her arm underneath for support as she jams them into her waiting gray bag.

Isaac nods, looking down at the list, and finding a few names circled on it. Stiles feels close to tears. Isaac wrote a list of baby names, most of them Celtic. Stiles is pleasantly surprised to find he knows most of the carefully written names on the paper, a lot of them names he and Isaac had come across when they were still the research lackeys for Derek and Scott. He does still want this, and Stiles kind of knew it, but it warms his heart to know for sure. “Yeah… Yeah, please.” Isaac really likes this girl, and Stiles is over the moon excited that Isaac will talk to someone about it. 

“The ones I circled are ones that are hard to transform into insults. And um, this is just personal anecdote, but pick something that maybe won’t get misspelled for the rest of the kid’s life. Or at least, you know, a nickname that people can pronounce.” Purple Parka looks back at the list under Isaac’s fingers. Apparently she’s suffered the consequences of an unusual name, and Isaac seems to think that fits right along with what opinion he’s formed of her. “A high school diploma is even sweeter when your name is spelled correctly.” She rolls her eyes as she finishes her little afterthought and zips up her now bulging bag.

Isaac smiles up at her, and she looks a little dazed and lost again. “Merry Christmas, if that’s your thing.” And Stiles can feel Isaac settle into cheer and cloudy days, as if he’s just set down an enormous load. Isaac raises a hand to wave goodbye to her as she rushes out the sliding glass door, clutching her bag. She still looks a little stunned and her shoulder catches the door on her way out, managing a wave of her own. Isaac wonders if she’s ok, and it’s Stiles who has to roll his eyes this time. Isaac will just never get how attractive he is. The book stacks fade back to their living room, and Stiles can hear himself laugh as he wipes the tears from his cheeks. What a fantastic memory for Stiles to have.

Stiles wanders into the kitchen, resting himself up against Isaac’s back as he stares at the pot of water on the stove. Isaac’s hands are busy adding salt and oil, so Stiles slips his own into Isaac’s front pockets. Stiles isn’t nearly as nervous as he was before Isaac came home. “Lydia called.”

Isaac freezes in front of him, and maybe Stiles should have been a little bit more nervous. He forges on, because they’re going to have to leave now if they want to get there in time. “This is the one though, Isaac. It’s a baby girl, and the mother is going to prison.” Stiles didn’t mean to be that bluntly happy about it, but he is. They won’t lose this baby. Isaac finally breathes out, scooting back to turn off the burner and he turns to face Stiles, his hands drawing Stiles’ own out of his pockets. “Do we get to go see her now?”

Stiles answers by way of a quick kiss before he walks to the front door, grabbing his keys from next to Isaac’s and waiting by the heavy wood that leads to their driveway. Isaac follows behind him, the smallest hint of a smile in his eyes. Stiles doesn’t blame him for not smiling like an idiot this time. To be denied a third time would be too much to bare. Isaac is trying to keep his heart safe.

At least this time, he won’t need to. 

 

The car ride is filled with glorious anticipation, and they sit in the best and warmest kind of silence. Stiles is driving the jeep, attempting and failing three times to force the rest of the story out of his mouth. Neonatal Withdrawal Syndrome. Their baby girl is going to be in a lot of pain, and will be for a while. Stiles knows that Isaac won’t give one fuck except a ‘fuck you’ to the mother. Stiles couldn’t agree more. 

They hold hands as they walk in to the hospital together, and Stiles doesn’t need to stop in for directions to the neonatal care unit. Stiles keeps chanting to himself that the third time's the charm when they arrive at the glass window looking out at the grid of sleeping babies. Stiles is surprised out of his search when he feels a light tap on his right shoulder. He looks down to find a young volunteer, a candy striper that looks about 15 with red hair in a tight bun at the top. “You must be the two Ms. Lydia called about. The nurses are busy with deliveries right now, so I hope its ok if I go get your baby?”

Stiles could actually jump up and down right now, ready to crawl out of his skin he’s so filled with anticipation. Instead he bounces up on his toes and back down, smiling and nodding very fast, squeezing Isaac’s hand. He spares a glance toward Isaac, who is still looking over all the babies through the glass panel. “Please…” Stiles takes a second to look for a name tag. “Anne. Yes, as soon as possible.”

Anne nods, and hurries through the blue door to the side, and Stiles and Isaac watch as she sidesteps to the end of the third row, stopping to smile tenderly at the baby inside it. She reaches down and cradles the little girl to her chest, turning her body away from them so they can see the sleeping face resting on her shoulder. Stiles feels the tears roll down his cheeks, and now Isaac is squashing Stiles’ hand. Isaac’s crying too. Finally, after all the waiting, they’re going to have a family.

Anne walks steadily back out, and asks them both to go sit down in the chairs lining the waiting room. Stiles has to let go of Isaac’s hand so one of them can hold her, and Anne picks Isaac to deliver the baby to. “Lay your arms like you’re going to pray, only both palms up.” Her smile looks so tender as she bends down to meet Isaac’s eyes, and Stiles stares on in wonderment, thinking that if he did believe in a god, he would thank him for this moment. Isaac’s still crying as Anne lowers the baby girl into Isaac’s upturned arms, her own fingers brushing the baby’s sleeping forehead. “Perfect. Congratulations on the baby you two.” Stiles is glad that they’re both sitting down, because the emotions are utterly overwhelming. Anne turns silently in her white sneakers to face Stiles, straightening and reaching into the big front pocket of her red and white striped dress to draw out five or six pamphlets. “Ms. Lydia said you’d be needing these.” Anne’s smile wavers, seeing a cross between anger and sadness on her face and Stiles knows they’re about the withdrawal and how to deal with it. She smiles when she looks back at Isaac and the baby though, whispering to Stiles that if they need anything, just come find her at the nurses’ station down the hall, and to not forget to sign the final paperwork.

Stiles leans over the wooden arm rest to lay his head on Isaac’s shoulder, looking down at their present. “What’re we going to call her?” Stiles thinks she looks like what baby Snow White would have looked like. Black curly hair with fair skin and the most adorable of lips. There’s not much else to see because she's swaddled in a pink blanket.

Isaac speaks for the first time since getting in the car. “How do you feel about Saoirse Aibhlinn?”

Stiles loves the name as immediately as he loves the two humans sitting next to him in this hospital. “It’s perfect. Kind of a mouthful though, don’t you think babe?”

Isaac apparently has no intention at all of looking away from Saoirse, but he moves his head a bit in contemplation. “You’re right. Come up with a nickname? You’re good with that.” Stiles is excited out of his mind, because he’s definitely already got one picked out. And it’s perfect too. Leah. Leah Lahey. Like Stiles Stilinski. He smiles at his own little joke, although the sentiment behind it is more than serious.

“Leah. It’s a mix between the two names, but people will actually be able to spell this one.” He smiles on Isaac’s shoulder, content to stay like this for hours until Isaac goes unnaturally still, discomfort seeping into Stiles.

Isaac looks away from Saoirse, his gaze hard when he meets Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles knows that he’s figured it out. “She’s not taking my dad’s name.” The mood lightens right away though as Saoirse stirs just a bit in her sleep, both of their attention gravitating back to the perfect little bundle in Isaac’s arms. Isaac concedes just a bit. “Leah’s perfect too. We’ll have the argument later.”

Stiles has to take a deep breath to delay tears when Isaac brushes his fingers over Saoirse’s forehead for the first time, his fingers lacing with black veins. Isaac’s face shatters into devastation as he rips his gaze away from their sleeping girl, confusion radiating from him. “Stiles.” All the panic in the world is in that one word.

“She has neonatal withdrawal syndrome. She’s in a lot of pain.” Stiles own face crumples in sadness as he watches Isaac’s emotions flash from devastation to elation to anger in much the same way Stiles did on the phone with Lydia. Isaac lays his huge palm on Saoirse’s tiny forehead, drawing away the black pain, his arm covered by his grey sweater so Stiles doesn’t have to worry about people asking any questions. Isaac looks as serious as the grave. He’s in love with this baby already. Then again, so is Stiles.

After a few minutes, Isaac gets up to put their girl in Stiles’ waiting arms, and Stiles feels the most incredible ice cold rush pass through his veins, a sudden vision of Saoirse looking around twenty in a white dress on a sailboat in the San Fran bay searing its way through Stiles’ mind. Stiles didn’t know he could see the future. But he’ll take it. They sit and stare in wonderment until Isaac gets up to go sign the final paperwork and put names on birth certificates. When he returns, Stiles is still absolutely lost in the vision of perfection in his arms. “Stiles.” Isaac has to be filled with love in this moment, because Stiles feeling exactly the same way.

“Yeah, babe?”

“We don’t have a car seat.” Isaac is looking down in shame as if not carrying one around 24/7 is some kind of crime. Stiles realizes the moment Isaac mumbles that to the floor they’re facing a major problem. How will they get her home now? Before Stiles can even think to respond, Anne comes down the hall with a scowl cast at the nurses' station, flipping them off with her free hand, a blue carseat banging into her thigh as she slows to meet them and not wake the baby in Stiles' arms. She’s panting a little when she halts in front of them, her face melting into happiness as she takes in the reverent picture before her.

“I couldn’t help but listen in, mister. Don’t let that beast of a nurse intimidate you.” Anne rolls her shoulders to try and rid herself of the irritation, but no relief comes today if the look on her face is anything to judge by. She sets the car seat down at their feet, glancing between them and Saoirse like she would rather sit with them for the next few minutes instead of going back to the nurses station. What the hell even happened over there? Stiles is too filled with elation to really care, but he's grateful for Anne all the same. Isaac sits back down, gravitating towards their sleeping girl. “There are plenty of forgotten car seats in this ward. No need to return it.”

Isaac keeps his hand on Saoirse the whole ride home, still surrounded by the comfortable silence. When they walk into the dark house, the christmas tree is on in the corner, and Stiles smiles at the beautiful illumination it casts on Isaac as he walks across the room and up the stairs. Stiles collapses on the couch and listens to Isaac lay their baby girl in her crib. Isaac heads back down the stairs to join him on the couch, flopping basically on top of him and kissing him all over the place, anywhere Isaac’s lips can reach Stiles. “What’s brought this on?” Stiles is exhausted but he’s not complaining, not even a little bit. 

“You changed the tree, Stiles.”

Isaac looks close to tears again, but Stiles is just wearily confused. “What?”

Isaac nuzzles down onto Stiles’ chest and drums his fingers over it. “Breathe in. Can’t you smell it?”

And Stiles can the second Isaac points it out, his heart overflowing with amazement. “I did that? I made it real? I only just barely wished it...” Stiles is incredulous, surprised that he had that much power. He kisses the top of Isaac’s head that’s laying right over his heart. He brings a hand to thread through the curls, intent upon keeping Isaac as a relaxed and breathing blanket for the next few hours. 

 

The rest of the month passes by in a love filled fog, mostly from all the sleepless nights over a crying Leah. Stiles feels like he's about to pass out in the rocking chair, their little girl finally quieting against his shoulder. Isaac creeps in, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded in front of him. Isaac has never looked this happy or relaxed, and he turns his head to regard the wall behind the crib. "Thank you for this." Isaac is running one set of fingers down the wall in appreciation, and Stiles wishes he had gotten the painting to look a little less abstract and blurred. Stiles hums at him in answer, his own eyes slipping closed as he runs his hand down Leah's back.

He blinks up confusedly as Leah is taken from his arms, indignant until Isaac kisses him with a slow burn. Stiles manages to push himself out of the rocking chair and go lean against Isaac's side as he lowers their baby into the crib. "Did you know--" Isaac begins but Stiles cuts him off with a long yawn and a playful jolt to his shoulder.

Stiles laces his fingers over Isaac's on the edge of the crib and lays his head on the almost too tall shoulder. "I know lots of things babe. What particular fact were you interested in?" He grins down at Saoirse and he can feel Isaac do the same. The only light in the room is from the Christmas tree downstairs, casting a grey white glow over their little one. Most would think cold and uninviting, but it only reminds Stiles of how he feels when he sees Isaac.

Isaac shoves Stiles back, keeping his voice down so they can keep their two hour's peace. "Happy New Year's, jackass. And you didn't know this. The Christmas tree hasn't dropped a single needle, Stiles. It won't die. What the hell are we supposed to do with it?" 

Stiles kisses him in answer for New Year's, both still leaning against the edge of the crib. "I guess we'll just have to keep it in the yard or something, bring it in every year so we can decorate it." Isaac nods down at him, squeezing Stiles' fingers three times in their usual pattern.

I love you too, Isaac, he thinks as he squeezes back. I love you too.

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles gives Isaac a Goya painting entitled "The Washer Women" If you would like to know more about the artist, or see the painting, here's a good place to start [X](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_Goya) and [X](http://www2.artflakes.com/artwork/products/172216/poster/172216.jpg).


End file.
